


Drink Your Feelings Away

by webslinginstark



Series: A Psychic & A Detective: A Match Made in Heaven [1]
Category: Psych
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 03:05:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14844462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webslinginstark/pseuds/webslinginstark
Summary: No way. No way in hell Head Detective Carlton Lassiter would like kissing Psychic Consultant Shawn Spencer. So why did he keep dreaming it? PRE-SLASH





	1. When I Close My Eyes, All I See is You

**Author's Note:**

> Please keep in mind that this is a pre-slash story! If you do not like that, just don't read it
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the TV show Psych. All I own is season 7 8 on DVD.

Nothing was out of the ordinary at the Santa Barbara Police station. Officers found their way across the bullpen with either files occupying their hands, or a criminal in tow to and from the interrogation rooms.

It was an uneventful afternoon and Lassiter was thankful for that. Nothing like a nice and quiet environment to finish his reports. Peaceful days were rare at the station, mostly due to one Shawn Spencer-ah crap. Where was Spencer, and what kind of trouble was he most likely getting himself into? Expecting the dynamic duo to walk through the front doors at any moment, Lassiter looked up.

A quick sweep of the station and it was still Spencer-less. He glanced at his watch to check the time as if Spencer kept a schedule. Hm. 1:30. Usually Spencer is at the station causing trouble alrea-

"What'cha waitin' for, Lassie?"

Lassiter couldn't help but jump at the sudden question that came from behind him. Dropping his pen, he quickly turned to face the perpetrator. "I'm waiting for you to go away, Spencer," he snapped at the younger man in his usual fashion, wondering why he even cared to know where the fake psychic was in the first place.

"Aw, but I just got here. Didn't you miss me?" Shawn pouted slightly as he inched closer to the still seated detective.

The action didn't go unnoticed by Lassiter as he responded to the movement by scooting his chair back to maximise the distance between the pair. "You know what I miss, Spencer?" He paused just long enough for Shawn to ponder the question, but not long enough for him to anwser. "Being able to get my work done without getting interrupted."

Shawn seemed to take the answer into consideration before he took another step closer. "It didn't look like you were working. It looked like you were waiting for something. For someone," he lowered his voice as he looked down at the man sitting before him.

Immediately Lassiter's heart rate spiked. What did Spencer think he was doing? Why had he taken interest in watching him? And why the hell did he keep stepping closer? These questions plus many more raced through Lassiter's head as he pushed the chair back as far as it would go before colliding with his desk. "What.. What do you.. What do you want, Spencer?" He finally managed to ask as he stared up at the man in question.

Shawn bent down to be at eye level with Lassiter as he smirked at the question. "What I want, Detective, is you."

Lassiter's heart stopped. There was no way in hell he heard Spencer correctly. He must be pulling a prank on him. At least, that what he was thinking before Spencer leaned forward and planted his lips on his.

Shock. Shock was the only emotion Lassiter could use to explain what was going through his head. He was so consumed in trying to rationally explain what was suddenly happening, he didn't hear his name being called until it elevated to a yell with a vigorous shake to his shoulders.

He opened his eyes and quickly snapped his head up to check his surroundings. Looking straight ahead he saw O'Hara staring down at him, trying her best not to laugh.

It was just a dream. Thank sweet justice. Spencer hadn't actually assaulted him in the middle of the station. Though, would it still be considered assault if he liked it? His eyes widened at the sudden unexpected thought.

No way. No way in hell Head Detective Carlton Lassiter would like kissing (fake)Psychic Consultant Shawn Spencer. So why did he keep dreaming it?

Sleep deprivation. That was the only answer. He'd driven himself to the point of exhaustion and his brain was creating impossible scenarios. The only flaw with that theory were the dreams themselves. It wasn't just the piles of cases on his desk keeping him awake. Every time he closed his eyes he found himself doing inappropriate things with one Shawn Spencer.

Looking past O'Hara, who he know realized was still staring at him, he was thankful the man currently inhabiting his dreams was nowhere to be seen. He didn't know what he would do if Spencer was present at the station at this very moment. He wouldn't be able to look the man in the eyes, let alone explain why he had slept very little for the past week and a half.

Almost the second O'Hara suggested Lassiter go home and get some rest he was out of his chair packing up his stuff because like O'Hara said, "The cases can wait until tomorrow," unlike his current problem which he preferred to fix as soon as possible.

Instead of attempting to get a mere few hours of sleep and subject himself to the torture of Spencer dreams, he could simply continue the habit he'd recently picked up of drinking through the night.

It started as one or two nightly drinks, just something to take the edge off a stressful day. Unfortunately it quickly evolved into six or seven drinks a night, in a mere attempt to push Shawn Spencer from his mind, and not remember his thoughts the next day.

The last few days of sleeplessness with the added continuous hangover, have only skyrocketed the detective's imagination, and he only had one solution. The bar near his house. It was a public setting, to keep himself from doing something embarrassing, not to mention out of Spencer's usual radius of travel, and the most convincing point of all, stronger alcohol. At his house he was limited to the few beers and bottles of whiskey he had on hand, but not tonight. Tonight, Head Detective Carlton Lassiter was getting uncontrollably hammered and no one could stop him.


	2. Liquor? I Barely Know Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of this chapter's title. It is a spoof of Psych's season 1 episode "Poker? I Barely Know Her"  
> credit for the updated title goes to: TheHistoryHuff. Thank you!

Dropping himself onto the barstool was the best decision Lassiter made all week. Surprisingly enough the bartender recognized him and slid a beer bottle across the counter. Once the bottle came to a stop in front of Lassiter he chuckled slightly, "Thanks, but tonight I'm going to need something a little stronger."

The bartender nodded in understanding and pulled the bottle away before he turned to grab something to fulfil Lassiter's request. He returned a moment later with a narrow shot glass and a bottle of clear liquid in his other hand. "Too strong?" The younger man asked as he gestured to the bottle.

Lassiter glanced at the label and smiled slightly. Just what he needed. Straight to the point with a shot of vodka. "That'll do just fine," he told the bartender and the shot glass was placed on the counter in front of him. Lassiter watched as the short narrow glass was filled almost to the brim before the bartender walked away.

Carefully picking the shot glass up off the counter and bringing it towards his face, Lassiter peered inside at the clear liquid. To a Spencer free night, he mentally toasted to himself before he downed the liquid in one swift motion. Grimacing slightly at the burn that raced down his throat, he sat the glass back on the counter. Tonight was going to be a good night.

The motorcycle roar in the parking lot quieted down to a low hum as it's rider slid off the seat. He pulled the key from the ignition and dropped it in his pocket, simultaneously pulling his helmet off his head. He turned on his heels to walk towards the doors of the unfamiliar building. Rarely was he ever on this side of town, and this was the first bar his phone's GPS offered.

The second he was inside the surprisingly busy bar, he immediately took in all the details in one quick glance. He spotted the crowd around the pool tables and figured there was some gambling going on, he noticed the hightop bar itself was actually pretty open so that was his best bet at getting a seat, and he noticed something else- more specifically someone else. The one person Shawn never in a million years expected to see at a bar, one Head Detective Carlton Lassiter.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips and Shawn changed his course to the open seat next to the clearly drunk Head Detective. Dropping his helmet on the ground by his feet, Shawn slid onto the empty bar stool.

It didn't surprise him when the action went unnoticed. The detective clearly had a few more drinks than his usual one glass of scotch a night. Glancing up and down the detective's body, Shawn was now aware of how disheveled the older man actually was. His suit jacket had found a new home on the floor at some point, his tie was loosened and was barely still looped around his neck, and his shirt was untucked with the top few buttons undone, much to Shawn's surprise, revealing the sternum bush. He remembered a few years back telling the detective to embrace the sternum bush because chicks dig it, whereas in reality it was him who wanted to see more of it.

When he looked back up to where the detective was currently more interested in the golden liquid occupying the small glass cup, he wondered what caused this night of sudden drinking.

It wasn't like Head Detective Carlton Lassiter to go on a sudden binge drinking, let alone in a public place. He always feared he would ruin his reputation, which was why he usually denied any accusations of him drinking. Something big had to be bothering the man and Shawn was more determined than ever to figure it out.

"You had enough to drink there, Lassie?" He suddenly asked, making his presence known.

As expected Lassiter jumped and dropped his glass to the countertop in surprise, ignoring that it tipped over and the whiskey from inside was now pooling around the glass.

Shawn was very confused when Lassiter had yet to say a single word. He simply stared, almost as if he wasn't sure Shawn was actually there or not. "You okay there Lassie? Drink so much you don't recognize me?" He questioned after the silence became almost unbearable.

Again, silence was the only thing that followed his question. Not even so much of a grumble or the usual, "go away, Spencer". He must've hit his alcohol limit, Shawn thought.

"I think it's time to get you home…" He started saying slowly as he reached forward to grab Lassiter's arm, in order to help lead him out of the bar. What he wasn't expecting was the slap to knock his hand away.

"Get your hands off me, Spencer," Lassiter all but growled the second Shawn had touched his upper arm. "I know how your little games work, and it's not happening this time."

Shawn was caught off guard. Just a second ago Lassiter was too drunk to speak, now he was arguing with him about playing games that Shawn had no recollection of playing. "Woah, woah, woah. Lassie, calm down. I'm just trying to help you get home safely," he explained calmly, hoping Lassiter would relax enough.

"You're just trying to use this as an excuse to get into my house," Lassiter paused to carefully lower himself from the barstool, not even noticing he was now standing on his suit jacket. Shawn opened his mouth to protest before he was cut off by a finger being jabbed into his chest, connected to a very angry looking Lassiter. "I'm not falling for it this time, Spencer. I know this is just a dream and I'm putting my foot down. I won't let you kiss me this time."

Anything Shawn was prepared to say in trying to convince Lassiter to go home was gone. Nothing was registering in his head rationally. Lassiter thought Shawn wanted to kiss him. Did he know he had developed feelings for the detective? No, he mentioned dreams. Why was he dreaming of Shawn? Did he feel the same way? What did he mean "this time"? How long has he been having these dreams? His mind was suddenly a busy highway with questions flying down each road as if they were a sports car trying to reach top speed, and Shawn had no choice but to close it down.

Lassiter was drunk. Plain and simple. For all Shawn knew he could've been having a weird mix up between him and his ex wife, so he decided to play along for now. Swallowing to remove any surprise or shock that had registered on his face, he finally spoke up. "Okay. Sure. Whatever you say, Lassie. No more kissing," he compromised with the very drunk detective. "Just let me get you home safely."

Lassiter seemed to heavily consider the offer. He was way too intoxicated to drive himself home and he wouldn't even consider driving under the influence. His only other option would be to call a cab, but a quick pat to his pocket and he realized he misplaced his phone at some point during the night. "Fine, Spencer," he sighed. "But don't think I won't be keeping a close eye on you."

Shawn dropped to his feet almost instantly. There was no way the detective would be able to stay balanced on the back of his motorcycle with his level of intoxication. "Did you drive yourself here, Lassie?" Shawn questioned as he started to push Lassiter away from the bar and towards the parking lot. If Lassiter's Crown Vic was here, he'd just need to find a way to coax the keys from the detective.

"Of course I drove here. Some psychic you are," Lassiter groaned as he reached into his pocket to retrieve the keys. "See?" He questioned as he dangled the keys in front of Shawn's face, making sure he could actually see them.

Taking the easiest opportunity he'd get, Shawn reached forward and grabbed the keys. Thankfully all the alcohol in Lassiter's system delayed his reaction and he was unable to stop Shawn from pocketing them.

"Hey! Give me those back, Spencer!" Lassiter yelled out as he attempted to reach into Shawn's pockets and grab them himself.

Immediately Shawn's eyebrows shot up at the feeling and he pushed Lassiter's hand away, making sure to grab him as he almost lost his balance and toppled to the floor. "You can have them back later. I need to get you home first, Lassie," he said as he scanned the parking lot for the almost brand new navy blue Crown Vic. He would probably receive hell from the detective in the coming days for even touching the car, but this was his only option of getting him home without calling for Juliet's help, and she'd never let him live this down.

After he spotted the Crown Vic, he carefully led Lassiter through the surprisingly full parking lot. "Here we go…" he mumbled mostly to himself as he reached into his pocket to unlock the car before he grabbed the door handle and pulled the passenger side open. He did his best to help the very drunk detective get into the car, but Lassiter was not cooperating at all. He was fumbling around and he wouldn't stop arguing with Shawn. The argument varied from yelling at Shawn for babying him, to getting frustrated with himself for not being able to buckle his own seatbelt.

Eventually Shawn gave up on trying to help the detective, and he slammed the door shut. What did I get myself into? He thought to himself as he stood outside of the car, taking a deep breath. Maybe he shouldn't have agreed to help Lassiter. He was fine with his decision before he found out Lassiter had been having intimate dreams about him, but now he was starting to regret going along with it. Having to pretend he didn't mind—hell he even liked—the idea of kissing Lassiter, was proving really difficult now. An hour ago he thought he was crazy for the feelings he developed for Lassiter, and now he felt like shit for thinking anything could happen between the two when Lassiter is literally trying to drink away his thoughts.

A sudden tapping on the window caused Shawn to jump and let his thoughts drift to the back of his mind. No matter what his feelings were, right now he had to put them aside and focus on getting his friend home safely.


	3. A Perfect Fit

Keeping in mind the very drunken state of his passenger, Shawn was paying close attention to the road. They had been driving for a grand total of 7 minutes, and Lassiter had talked through 6 of those minutes. Shawn was starting to get annoyed with the drunk detective, and he was coming to an understanding for why the detective gets so frustrated when Shawn never shuts up.

"Dream Shawn?" Lassiter piped up after only a short minute of quiet, with the new nickname he'd developed for his driver. "Why do you like kissing me in these dreams?"

Shawn stiffened and relaxed after a few seconds of thought. He had nothing to lose here. Telling Lassiter the truth about what was attracting the detective to himself could always be blamed on Lassiter's drunk imagination, or Shawn could just claim he was playing along to please him. "Well, you're really attractive, Lassie. Who doesn't think about kissing you?" He paused to think and frowned. "Besides Jules, 'cause that's just weird. She's your partner. And Gus. He's straight as a ruler. And the chief. She's your boss. Also weird. You know what… I guess it is just me thinking about kissing you…"

Lassiter seemed to process what Shawn was saying before he stifled a laugh at Shawn's logic. Shortly after Lassiter's laughter died down, he looked out the window and sighed. "You know what, Dream Shawn?"

Shawn looked towards Lassiter out of the corner of his eye. "What, Lassie?" He asked cautiously, not knowing where the conversation was heading.

"I've been thinking about the dreams lately…" he paused, almost sounding sober to Shawn. "Maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me that I really do have feelings for non-dream Shawn."

A smile tugged at the corner of Shawn's lips at the statement. His feelings for the detective started developing not long after he first saw him in that interrogation room. Of course his hopes of anything happening between the two were shattered when he discovered Lassiter was in a straight relationship with his partner. Now a few years later and Lassiter was basically admitting he had feelings. "Is that a bad thing?" He asked after the discomfort in Lassiter's voice registered in his head.

Almost as soon as Shawn finished his question, Lassiter turned to face him. "Any chance we can stop for some tacos? I'm starving," he asked as if he didn't hear the question he was just asked.

Holding back the urge to roll his eyes, Shawn shook his head. "The only 24 hour taco place is on the other side of town, and besides, we're already at your house," Shawn pointed out as he pushed on the brake and put the car into park on the concrete driveway.

Lassiter groaned at his response as he looked out the window to see that they had, in fact, pulled into his driveway. "Fine. No tacos," he mumbled under his breath. At least, he thought he did until Shawn turned to look at him. "What?" He asked when the man staring at him never spoke up.

Shawn shook his head once again. "You just act like a child when you're drunk. That's all," he said before he was out of the car, almost in an instant, and pulling open the passenger door. He stepped back just slightly, leaving enough room for Lassiter to step out of the car.

It seemed to Shawn like Lassiter was only getting more drunk as the time went on, and that was proven when Lassiter stepped out of the car and lost his balance out of nowhere. He didn't step on anything, but he didn't get caught on anything either. He simply stepped out of the car and started toppling to the ground.

Thankfully, Shawn didn't step back too far and he was well within reach to grab the falling detective. He shot his arms out and grabbed Lassiter by is flailing arm, pulling him back up to a standing position. "Let's get you inside before you manage to cause some semi-permanent damage to yourself," Shawn mumbled as he wrapped his arm around the detective's waist, and pulled the arm, he had yet to let go of, over his shoulder.

Once he was sure that he had a strong grip on Lassiter and that he wasn't going to fall over again, he started leading the drunken man up his driveway towards his house.

The most challenging part by far for Lassiter's drunk state, was the stairs. There were two small steps leading up to the front door, and Lassiter couldn't seem to wrap his head around getting up them. Every time he lifted his foot up and hovered it over the step, he stepped down and always planted his foot right back where it started.

Shawn knew the detective's vision was playing tricks on him. Making it seem like he had three or four feet, and it was confusing the poor man. "Listen, Lassie. I know it seems difficult, but you just need to focus on the foot that's the most clear of them all. Trust me, I've been where you are on several occasions," Shawn explained calmly, just trying to help.

Lassiter in turn took the advice the wrong way and glared at the shorter man holding him in place. " I am trying, Spencer," he hissed. Without another word, he turned and focused all his attention on getting up the few steps.

Rolling his eyes at Lassiter, Shawn reached down with his free hand and forcefully placed Lassiter's leg down on the first step. "See, Lassie? Sometimes you just have to be accepting of a little help," he blurted out without thinking about it. Surprisingly enough he was starting to get annoyed, and he just wanted to get Lassiter inside so he could be free to leave.

"I would've gotten it eventually," Lassiter mumbled back as he let Shawn help him place his feet steadily on the steps.

After only a few short minutes of Shawn helping the detective, the two had made it to the top of the steps and were standing in front of the door. Shawn reached awkwardly across his body to retrieve the keys from his pocket without letting go of the arm wrapped over his shoulders. He grabbed the only other key on the keyring and jammed it into the lock. Just push through a little longer, he told himself as he turned the key and pushed the door open.

Lassiter took the lead and stepped inside the house, not waiting for Shawn as he pulled the key out of the lock and shut the door behind them. He stopped after only a few steps and stared down at his feet.

Once Shawn pushed the door closed, he turned to face the inside of the house and he quirked a brow. Lassiter simply stood there staring down at the floor. "See something interesting down there?" Shawn questioned as he stepped closer.

"I have to take my shoes off," Lassiter replied without hesitation or much thought.

"Okay? And?" Shawn questioned again, not understanding the weird behavior. He didn't think Lassiter would be the type to have OCD about where and when he takes his shoes off before entering his house.

"And i'm dizzy, Spencer," Lassiter added when he finally turned is head towards the psychic just standing there doing nothing.

Shawn smirked slightly and stifled a laugh. "Is that your way of asking for help, Detective? I think you need a little work on your people skills." Shawn made his way over to Lassiter and grabbed his shoulder. "I'll hold you in place, you lift your leg up and take your shoe off," he suggested.

Lassiter accepted the suggestion without much thinking. He nodded his head and raised his right leg slowly, also bending down to reach his shoe laces.

The first shoe came off fine. Lassiter had no problem with leaning forward slightly as Shawn pushed against him in the opposite direction to keep him balanced. Unfortunately, the second shoe had much more difficulty. For some reason, his left shoe was tied tighter than his right, and he felt himself leaning forward more to inspect the laces. He also felt his balance give out entirely as he started falling. Again.

The second Shawn felt Lassiter's weight start to shift and his balance start to give out, he used his other hand to grab Lassiter's other shoulder, hoping the extra force would keep him in place. Shawn took a step back as well, trying to keep all of Lassiter's weight in front of him and easier to manage. What he wasn't expecting though, was a small rug by the front door that slid as soon as Shawn stepped on it, causing him to lose his balance as well.

It seemed like slow motion to Shawn. First Lassiter leaning forward, then him adjusting his grip, then his step back, and then his foot went with the rug sliding out from underneath him, leaving the two men to topple to the ground together.

When Shawn finally opened his eyes after his impact with the floor, he noticed the detective staring down at him. Oh how he'd dreamed of being in this position. Him lying down, although he usually dreamt he was on a bed or a couch at least, with Lassiter on top of him. Close enough to count his eyelashes, close enough to notice the small specks of gray scattered in his ocean blue eyes, close enough to feel his warm breath on his lips. And that's why when Lassiter started to lean down to close the gap, Shawn didn't question the motive for a second. Their lips connected and seemed to fit like two puzzle pieces. A perfect match. Shawn had always wanted to know what it would be like to kiss the head detective. What his lips would taste like…

It wasn't until he tasted the alcohol on Lassiter's lips when he realized what the hell he was doing. He forced his eyes open and he pulled his head back away from Lassiter. When Lassiter only followed where Shawn went, he resorted to his last option. He pulled his arms away from their resting place wrapped around Lassiter's back, and repositioned them on his shoulders. "Oh, fuck. Lassie, stop!" He yelled out at the same time as he pushed the detective off of him. Lassiter fell backwards in shock at the sudden change in tone and just stared at Shawn, confused.

"I can't… You can't…" Shawn stumbled over his words as he pushed himself into a seated position. "You're drunk, Lassiter," he stated the obvious and Lassiter just continued to stare at Shawn in confusion. "You're drunk, and I can't let myself do this with you right now. I can't take advantage of you. You think this is a dream and that you'll wake up tomorrow morning just peachy and continue to live life repressing any feelings you may have for me," he paused to see if Lassiter's expression changed. It hadn't. "No matter how much I would love to kiss you right now, I can't. So let's just put you to bed and if you happen to remember this in the morning, feel free to talk to me if you really want to kiss me."

With that his little speech was over and he pushed himself up off the floor. He walked over to where Lassiter had remained seated, lost in his thoughts. Without saying another word, Shawn simply reached down to grab Lassiter's arms and hoist him up. The movement seemed to shake Lassiter from whatever he was thinking, and he was able to walk himself to his bedroom without much help from Shawn.

Shawn stood in the doorway, simply watching the detective crawl into his bed without changing his clothes. He slid under his blanket with his dress shirt, tie, and slacks. "Goodnight, Lassie," he whispered as he stepped back and pulled the door shut.

Walking back into the living room, Shawn groaned. After the past few years of having feelings for the head detective, but not being able to announce them out of fear, he finally got the kiss he was waiting for and it was ruined because of some goddamn alcohol.

He threw his hands in the air out of frustration. He just wanted to get out of here. The sight of Lassiter's belongings reminding him of what he can't have, and probably will never have, was killing him. As much as he hated to admit it, Lassiter would probably wake up the next morning with an intense hangover and no recollection of the night at all. Forgetting his realization of his feelings, and most importantly of all, forgetting the kiss.

Shawn dropped himself onto the simple gray couch and looked at his watch. 3:30am. He had no ride back to his place without calling Gus, and he wasn't about to get a lecture from a very tired best friend.

After a few minutes of thought on what he should do, Shawn gave up. He grabbed a pillow from his right and attempted to make himself comfortable on the very uncomfortable couch.


	4. What Happened Last Night?

The light that streamed into the room was blinding even from behind closed eyes. Lassiter groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to alleviate some pressure from the massive headache that was present. He slowly sat himself up in his bed and looked down. His tie was barely hanging around his neck, and his shirt had managed to come unbuttoned except for the bottom two.

Reaching into his bedside table, he found his bottle of painkillers and a bottle of water. He always knew to be prepared before a night of drinking, and he was thankful for his previously sober self.

He quickly popped two plain white pills into his mouth and downed almost half of the water bottle. God, was he thirsty.

Even though he couldn't smell it himself, he knew with a massive hangover such as this one, he must reek of alcohol. A shower is a must, but one cup of coffee before can't hurt, he thought to himself as he forced himself up out of his bed, and onto his feet.

The sudden movement caused the pain in his head to spike and he was forced to take a moment and steady himself. He hadn't been this hungover in a long time and now he knew why. It sucked. After a few deep breaths, he continued on his trek to the kitchen.

He entered the kitchen only a few moments later and he reached for his coffee mug which he left out by the sink. He was once again thankful for his previous sober self when he noticed the coffee pot had been set to a timer, and was just beginning to brew.

While giving the coffee pot time to fill, Lassiter opened his refrigerator and reached in to grab his favorite coffee creamer. Setting the bottle of creamer on the counter, he reached for the pot once it finished brewing. The hot liquid filled his coffee mug and Lassiter took a big whiff before taking a careful sip.

As he sipped his fresh morning coffee, Lassiter thought back to the previous night. His memory was clear until about his fourth shot, and that's when things started to get fuzzy. Somehow he managed to get home in one piece, and he sure as hell wouldn't allow himself to drive under the influence. He stared out of his kitchen window as he tried to focus and unblur his foggy memory.

He lost himself so deep into his thoughts, the sudden groan that came from behind him caused him to jump. Turning around immediately and reaching for one of his spare guns, he stopped dead in his tracks when he realized just who made that sound. "Spencer, what the hell do you think you're doing here?"

Shawn turned his head towards the kitchen and simply smiled. "Lassie! Good to see you survived the night," he teased, at least Lassiter was hoping he was just teasing him. "Thanks for making coffee," Shawn said as he stood up from the couch and sauntered into the kitchen.

Lassiter was confused. He didn't know whether to kick Shawn out or not. Clearly the man slept on his couch and he wanted to know why. "Did you sleep here last night?"

Reaching up to open a cupboard, Shawn didn't bat an eye at the question. "Where do you keep the extra mugs?" He asked, simply ignoring Lassiter for the time being.

A simple point to the cupboard next to Shawn was Lassiter's only reply. "Seriously, Spencer. Why did you sleep on my couch last night?"

"How else do you think you made it home in one piece?" Shawn questioned back, as he began to pour coffee into the mug he grabbed.

Lassiter stopped. Shawn drove him home. Shawn drove him home, wasted. He wasn't sure he wanted to know any of the stupid shit he did.

"I know you're trying to do a playback of the night to see if you did anything embarrassing and or career ruining in front of me," Shawn burst out nonchalantly while looking down at his coffee. "Well if it prevents that vein that's sticking out of your forehead from popping, I'll have you know you did no such things," unless you consider making out with me embarrassing, he thought to himself without looking up.

A breath of relief was released and Lassiter relaxed. "What were you doing at that bar last night? I know it's not near your apartment."

Shawn almost laughed out loud. Of course that's why the bar was picked. It was far enough away from him that Lassiter could get drunk without worrying about running into the one he was trying to forget. "It doesn't matter why I was there. I was gonna ask you why you were there. I know how you feel about drinking in public."

Lassiter visibly paled. Quick, think of something! His brain was screaming at him. "I, uh, was just having a rough night," was all he could come up with, and afterall, it wasn't a lie.

A small nod showed that Shawn understood and was going to drop the subject. Which was surprisingly un-Shawn like. The normal hyperactive Shawn that he knew, wouldn't stop at any answer until he found the real answer. So why wasn't he talking now?

"Did something happen last night that you're not telling me?" Lassiter asked as he carefully sat his coffee mug on the kitchen counter he was leaning against.

Well, for starters, you told me about your sexual dreams about me, you admitted your feelings for me, and you made out with me. "No," was the short and quiet answer Shawn gave.

Lassiter crossed his arms across his chest and stared at Shawn as he once again scrubbed through his memory. Now that he knew Shawn was the one who drove him home, that part was a bit clearer. He recalled slightly being driven home, and he recalled falling multiple times, the last of which he fell right on top of… Shit. Fuck. Dammit. Son of a bitch. He fell right on top of Shawn and proceeded to attempt a makeout session.

He wasn't even aware he had a visual panic until he heard Shawn set his coffee mug down and walk past him. "Judging by the not so positive reaction, I'll take that as my cue to leave. I'll see you at the station tomorrow, please don't try to shoot me considering you were the one who started it," he stammered as he hurried to the front door, all without looking at Lassiter.

"Wait!" Acting completely out of gut reactions and going against the logic side of his brain, Lassiter stepped forward and grabbed Shawn's arm. Shawn turned to look at Lassiter in pure confusion, and even a little bit of fear for what might be happening. He noticed that Shawn was starting to pull away, and he acted quickly by putting his hand on his back and pulling him in closer. He looked down at the man now pressed against his chest and smirked. "There's a reason I started it," he said simply before he leaned down and closed the gap, placing his lips on Shawn's.

After a brief moment of shock, Shawn relaxed into Lassiter's grip and began to kiss back. He slid his hands up the length of the taller man's back, and ran his hands through his hair.

Lassiter let his hands slide down to Shawn's hips as he focused on the kiss. He focused on everything about Shawn. The curve of his back, the way he jumped and melted into him when his hands brushed underneath his shirt, the way their mouths moved in unison like they were meant for each other, and the way Shawn was driving him crazy by tugging at his hair.

Shawn was the first to pull away from the lack of air. He took deep breaths to steady his breathing as he stared up at Lassiter in disbelief. "Fuck, Lassie," he chuckled. "You have no idea how long I've wanted you to do that."

"I'm just glad I figured it out," he admitted honestly.

"You can thank the god of alcohol for that one, Lassie," Shawn joked before he tilted his head up and connected their lips once again, in a more gentle kiss this time.

Lassiter pulled back enough to continue talking. "Listen, Spen-," he cleared his throat before continuing. "Listen, Shawn. If we're going to do this, there has to be a few ground rules."

"I'm not very good at obeying rules, but you can figure that out in bed," Shawn winked as he trailed his finger down the length of Lassiter's shirt, undoing the last two buttons.

Rolling his eyes at the action, Lassiter took Shawn's hands in his. "I'm serious, Shawn. I don't want anyone at the station to know yet."

Shawn frowned. "Why? Are you ashamed? I don't want to do anything serious if you're just going to pretend it doesn't happen," he started to pull away from the detective as he spoke, and Lassiter pulled him in closer.

"No, Shawn. I'm not ashamed. I just don't want whatever we do to affect how we work together. I don't want the chief to forbid us from working cases. Is that alright?" He finally asked, pulling Shawn's hands to his mouth to give them a soft kiss.

"It's fine with me, Lassie. But you do know I'm gonna tell Gus anyway, right?" He smirked and pulled his hands back down, repositioning them in Lassiter's hair.

Lassiter's only response was an eyeroll and a simple, "yeah, I know," before he leaned back down to kiss Shawn again.

He slid his hands back down the length of Shawn's sides and watched as he shivered when he shoved his hands up and under the shirt. Shawn practically collapsed into him at the touch and that was all Lassiter needed. He pulled his hands back out and tugged at the bottom of the shirt, warning Shawn that he was about to rip it off.

Shawn pulled away just enough to give Lassiter enough leeway to pull the shirt up and over his head, before tossing it god knows where. "Bedroom?" Shawn whispered as he leaned back into the kiss.

"Bedroom," Lassiter agreed and led the way without breaking their connection.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking for more Shassie? Be sure to check out part 2, "You Can't Hold Onto Secrets Forever"


End file.
